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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449909">A Kiss From Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eulogy_of_the_Cards/pseuds/Eulogy_of_the_Cards'>Eulogy_of_the_Cards</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Apex Legends (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Bar, Drugs, Fantasy, Guns, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss Trope, Mirage | Elliott Witt &amp; Wraith | Renee Blasey Friendship, Mirage | Elliott Witt Needs a Hug, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eulogy_of_the_Cards/pseuds/Eulogy_of_the_Cards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliott Witt was a famous inventor, mixologist, and charmer extraordinaire! He loved what he did and did what he loved, with the help of his decoys and his best friend, Renee. The fame and glory could be overwhelming at times, but he loved it all the same, and loved his routine.</p><p>Yeah, that all got thrown out of the window after one assassination and another attempt.</p><p>Elliott finds himself dragged into a world he's not sure if he could ever understand, a world where bloodshed is common and knowing a name could get you killed.<br/>But perhaps there is some light in it all?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Kiss From Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Renee!” A glass slid across the freshly polished obsidian bar, damn near sliding off it before a pale woman clad in purple appeared from shimmering nothingness. She grabbed the glass before it managed to topple to the floor, shooting a glare at the man behind the pathetic stunt,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not one of your little holo-workers, Witt.” Renee spat, before changing her demeanour, and handing off the glass to a patron with a charming smile. The man behind the bar just grinned at her, leaning on the surface in front of him whilst a lookalike jotted down orders from the sudden influx of customers,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine if you were though! You’d be getting paid double what that little side gig earns ya. What did you say it was this week? Was it photograph- phonograph- pho- photography or pornography?” Elliott ducked quick enough that a dart shot just over his head, Renee looking as though she was ready to rip his throat out in front of everyone,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elliott, as much as I love you, try my patience one more time, and I’ll turn your tooth into a wedding ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You flatter me!” Elliott stuck his tongue out at his friend, distracted momentarily by a hearty tip popped into his jar by a rather busty woman. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>redheaded</span>
  </em>
  <span> busty woman, now that’s very nice. He playfully winked at her, sliding her a drink with his number written on the coaster. What? He wasn’t exactly below a good one night stand once in a while,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s photography, you whore.” Renee rolled her eyes with a smile as she knocked back another drink, laughing at her friend’s antics. Elliott looked up from the bar, a little fear in his eyes as he looked at Renee- no, not at her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>past </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. She grimaced and clenched her gloved fist as she felt a very masculine hand grab her shoulder,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t let go of me or buy me a drink, I swear to whatever higher power is out there that I’ll-” She cut herself off as she turned around, seeing a ridiculous yellow suit over a tanned chest, goggles hanging just below his collarbone,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know Renee, I was thinking you were getting better at telling us apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of these days I’m gonna punch you into the next nebula.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott groaned as he received an elbow to the stomach. The purple-suited woman turned back to the bar just in time to see her conversational partner disappear with a wave into a cloud of blue-hued pixels,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“They’re becoming quite advanced, I’ll give you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott grumbled about bruising and wrinkling his blazer as he sat down on the barstool next to Renee, rubbing his stomach gently,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had nothing to do but work on them all week, considering your big boss hasn’t assign- ass- given me anything new. The Mirages and I have been making bets, y’know? What’s my next project? A turbocharged needlepoint razor gun? A holographic bank door that lets you know of unregistered heat patterns? Seriously, Ren, who do you even work for? NASA?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rambled on and on, waving his hand out to send off another Mirage to work the bar, ordering himself and his friend another round of drinks while he was at it. Renee seemed interested enough in what he had to say, even if her expression was blank,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your timing is impeccable, you know?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. Renee took a sip of her drink before she spoke; lavender gin, by the way, leaving a nice tingle on her tongue,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big Boss wants a sort of holographic blade, but y’know, a functioning one. I don’t know the terms you’re gonna use, the hilt can be anything so long as it looks casual, the blade needs to be camouflaged, but usable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Renee, who the fuck do you work for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Renee chuckled and took another sip of her drink. She knew the question was rhetorical.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them. Elliott got money, a couple hundred grand for each thing he provided, and Renee’s Big Boss got whatever they wanted. It was a sort of ‘ask no questions, tell no lies’ type of deal. It wasn’t complicated, and they were both happy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> Elliott. But still, he couldn’t help but wonder who exactly he was providing for. He didn’t really care either way, he wasn’t exactly a saint by any means, but there was always that nagging curiosity, the need to know what he wasn’t allowed to,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have it done within two to three weeks. Payment up front, as usual please darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held his hand out with a small flourish, Renee almost gagging at the sheer amount of gold rings on his fingers. God, she hated gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thick wad of cash was placed in Elliott’s hand, and he grinned as he began counting,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Big Boss asked me if they could get it embellished with your signature. Said they felt bad they had ‘no way of discreetly promoting such artistry’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott blushed a little, having to restart his counting,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why that should be a problem. Is on the hilt fine?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Should be.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Awesome.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Renee knocked back the rest of her drink while Elliott sat next to her, counting up the bills. She placed a hand on his knee, snapping him out of his focus,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t overwork yourself, okay Ell? You’re my friend first and foremost, not my business partner. Big Boss won’t care if it runs a little late.” He looked up at her, reading her face for any trace of sarcasm. When he deemed it okay, he smiled and nodded. Renee grinned and held his face in her hands, giving him a light kiss on the forehead,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got some business to go take care of now. Stay safe, idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott nodded, brown hair falling down from the coif he’d styled it into. There was a slight breeze, and Renee was gone, a little bit of purple where she once was.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott didn’t despise public transport by any means, but he could think of so many things that were better than the subway station at three in the morning. The smell of piss and vomit was almost overwhelming, and he shivered in the bitter night air. He wrapped his arms around himself, lamenting his earlier choice to leave without a coat. God, what he would've given for some layered Maurmillaux fur right then, or even just his whole bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh yeah, sleep was a thing. He’d had to silently remind himself of that, remembering Renee’s earlier words about not overworking himself and all of that self care bullshit she liked to spout to him that he damn well </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> she didn’t pay attention to herself. But still, he’d do anything to make her happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott brought up his holopad from his ring, jotting down sketches and functionalities of the individual parts of the knife while he waited for the train. He tried to immerse himself in his work, he really did, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>to pay attention to what he was doing when there was a constant drip from the damp-soaked ceiling and the skitter of rat and rittike feet on the tracks mere feet in front of him. Elliott closed his holopad, standing up from where he’d sat on the cleanest part of the bench, knowing he had chipped red paint on the back of his suit. His dry-clean only suit. Fuck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he didn’t despise public transport, but he definitely fucking despised the subway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott glanced over the edge of the platform, eyes zeroing in on a lone rittike gnawing at a Yummy Yorik’s burger box. Its blue fur was mottled with patches of pink, so he knew it was old. Its bulbous eyes were a deep shade of red, the pupil nigh invisible with how small it was. Rittike fur was beautiful, a lot of artists used the colours and style of it as inspiration for their artwork. Perhaps Elliott should take a leaf out of the old slime painter’s books and use wild inspiration? He chuckled and shook his head. Natural inspiration never felt right to him, he much preferred industrialism and that sort of thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tracks began to rattle, the telltale hissing and screeching of a train rapidly approaching. Elliott looked down the tunnel, watching flickers of bright electricity flicker to life behind the glow of the rapidly approaching train’s headlights. He stood back, letting the vehicle roll past him, the breeze from it chilling him to the bone before it came to a stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The train cart Elliott stepped into was damn near empty. He got a few glances from the late night stragglers due to his flamboyant attire, but it wasn’t anything new. He took in his company, more out of boredom than any actual interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grabbing onto the central pole was a young Mixudien boy, probably no older than 24, looking intently at his holopad. He was watching something online, Elliott couldn’t make out what. The boy looked like one of Ell’s older brothers back when he was 24, untamed brown hair, hooked nose, defined muscles, the only noticeable difference was the trademark Mixudien pointed ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott’s eyes drifted around the car once again, landing on a woman in her boyfriend’s lap, aggressively gyrating and making out with him. He chuckled, the three am train always had the most personality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The others were either too far away or just uninteresting; an older guy fast asleep on his seat, a blonde woman in a blue hoodie (Elliott envied her apparent warmth), and a Ludettien reshaping a part of their face. All in all, it wasn’t the most exciting ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The carriage jostled as the train sped through the tunnel system, luminescent lights flashing through the stained windows, the odd spark from the tracks flying up here and there. There was an odd peace in the repetitive sounds, save for the randy couple essentially jerking each other off at this point. One could even call it a sort of civic tranquil, if such a thing actually exists. Elliott smirked with a small huff, he sincerely doubted it. Maybe he could coin that phrase as the title of his biography (that he was absolutely getting around to making, thank you very much!).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed onto the central pole as the train halted, making sure he left a respectful distance between himself and the cute boy who was still thoroughly engrossed in his phone. He stepped off the train, the horny couple hopping off alongside him, still attached to each other at the hip. It was quite sweet, honestly, if you looked past the desperate groping and barely-hidden moans. Elliott knew how it felt to be held like that, to be so desperate to be near each other that you don’t care who sees or who cares. He missed it, but he was happy for those two, to be so young and in love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or in lust. Who knows?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tolnyn Station was a lot less shitty than Brokers Station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brokers was the one closest to his bar, named so after the mainly poor people that inhabited the street and surrounding area, and even the station itself in some cases. It’s why Elliott had managed to get such a good deal on the bar’s property, Brokers Street wasn’t exactly sought after on the property market, in fact people did everything to try and avoid it. But Ell made it work. He liked to think that The Voyage was the street’s own personal landmark, bringing a bit of colour and cash to the otherwise detested road.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tolnyn was two stops away from Brokers, and was evidently much richer. Firstly, it didn’t have the overwhelming stench of egesta and Pixie Dust. The tiled floor was so much cleaner, not exceptionally polished, but clean enough that there weren’t any vomit or blood stains. Those few things in and of themselves were enough to put it miles above Brokers, but then there was the architecture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tolnyn was a repurposed old Mixudien chapel, so it had great arches and sculptures made of marble in damn near every corridor of the place. The first Mixudien people were known to have inhabited the underground much more than the surface, mostly a primal instinct to keep safe from predators or whatever, but because of that, their architecture surpassed even most modern day buildings. Elliott shrugged internally, not much to do when you’re underground, he guessed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He parted ways with the kissing couple once he reached the escalator, the two of them going up the other side towards Hylem Avenue. He was slightly glad they didn’t live near him. He didn’t think he could put up with another night of a couple screaming each other’s names a few floors down again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bitter cold of the surface almost shocked him back into the subway station, suddenly missing the internal heating. Elliott hissed, wrapping his arms around himself once more, soldiering on to his apartment complex.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, just because Tolnyn Station and Street had such an air of properierty and richness about them didn’t mean the night life conformed to what people saw in the light of the suns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t unusual for Elliott to be propositioned by people - both young and old - wearing fishnets and collars, scantily clad and sometimes all but naked,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mere pretty boy, ya want a night with me? 10 bucks and you can suck ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hiya Elliott, want another round? I’ll charge half price if you use your mouth again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, shaking his head and declining all offers. It was freezing, he just wanted to get home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shooed off a bone-thin woman sitting on his doorstep, snorting Pixie Dust off her own thigh. She grinned at him with blackened teeth, offering him a small baggie. Now, if anyone saw the moment of consideration before his denial, he would’ve adamantly denied it, but that’s not to say it wasn’t there. On a normal day, perhaps he would’ve said yes, but it was fucking freezing, and the drugs probably wouldn’t help him just get to sleep like he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott fumbled with the keys, and as soon as he stepped inside, the woman took her place right back on the doorstep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His apartment building was one of the better kept places, the entryway covered with an only </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> blood-stained rug, and almost every small accent adorned with faux gold. It was overwhelmingly silent at this point in the morning, pushing Elliott to quickly enter the elevator to alleviate the underlying paranoia that told him he might get stabbed by a Duster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator was a lot less showy and clean in comparison to the entrance, which could be classified as an entrance hall because of the sheer unnecessary size of it. Well, it wasn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge</span>
  </em>
  <span>, set at roughly 950 square feet, but it was most definitely way too big for an apartment complex’s entryway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator, for all the grandiose bullshit that was the entryway, was hardly even 5x5, which meant it got </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> cramped at rush hour. Elliott was grateful for his weird work hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were mirrors on three of the walls, lining them from top to bottom, and on the back wall was a handrail, that anyone in their right mind wouldn’t dare touch. The mirrors, much like Brokers Street Station, were stained in all sorts of fluids - most of which were probably bodily - and gunk. If you looked too long at the hatch on the ceiling, you’d see the water damage and steadily growing black mould, and the damn near fluorescent lights only helped illuminate the piss and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh god that’s cum</span>
  </em>
  <span> and whatever else the most relevant higher power had deemed acceptable to allow people to stain the floor with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>According to Elliott, however, the worst part of the elevator was the damn robot. He grimaced at it as he flashed it his identification.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t understand why they’d had to fit in a creepy robot to take you to your floor instead of just keeping it to simple buttons like normal places. Well, he did understand; it was to prove how rich the building’s owner was, but that didn’t mean he liked it one bit. First of all, it was creepy. Second of all, when the elevator was full, you had to loudly announce your floor not only to the damn hunk of junk, but to everyone else in the elevator. It was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>unnecessary</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that was coming from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Elliott was definitely one who enjoyed the finer things in life; his apartment had a gorgeous view of the city’s stadium and the Iron Rose, as well as the ocean behind it, he dined at five star restaurants that were paid for by his sponsors, he didn’t even get anything below A-Star drugs and alcohol. If he wanted, he could get someone else to build his own inventions, but he’d always turned his nose up at the idea. Sure, he was a rich brat, but he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>lazy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His inventions were his own special thing that he’d been doing since he was a kid, and he’d be damned if he would ever let himself marinate in his own unused talent for the rest of his many days,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Floor 28.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right away, Mister Witt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Elliott.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a small crackle of electricity as the elevator sprung to life and began hauling itself up the many floors. Elliott only staggered initially as the borderline-death-trap started moving, adamantly refusing to grab onto the handrail behind him. If he was going to die, it’d be by falling out of the elevator, not by contracting eighty-seven types of infections from a metal pole in the aforementioned elevator. He had reason to believe half the people that lived here either had all the known STDs, were anti-vaxx, or both.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator rumbled to a stop after a few minutes, the robot letting a soft chime out of its mouth as the doors rolled open,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Floor 28. Have a good evening, Mister Witt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott didn’t say anything back to it as he walked out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The grimy carpet muffled each of his footsteps as he made his way toward his apartment, running a hand through his hair with a yawn. He gagged a little as one of his steps made a soft ‘crunch’, not knowing if he’d stepped on something or if it was a dried part of whatever the carpet was caked in. He decided he didn’t really care to find out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott’s keys jingled as he pulled them out of his blazer pocket, fumbling for a moment as he shoved them in the lock. Twice to the right, once to the left, </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door swung open, the lights automatically turning on as their owner stepped in. They were used to him coming home this early in the morning, their soft purr a welcoming sound to his ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blazer was the first thing to come off, tossed haphazardly in the general direction of the coat rack as he closed and locked the door, latching and bolting it as he always did. You could never be too safe in Loboul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whilst the city’s center was known for its unrivaled beauty, the outskirts and less-frequented streets were commonly on the police radar, the streets and back alleys rife with crime and murder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that’s not even mentioning the mafia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was an established fact that Loboul was home to the country’s mafia. Hell, no one was sure if it was just the country at this point. There’d been rumours spread around in the different crime rings and bar patrons whispered about the Loboulian Mafia had stopped operating solely in Exotel. Word was they’d finally gotten their branches settled all across Jewelle, which meant they were probably looking to extend their roots across the Nebulum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott had seen the mafia in action once before, he’d never really been able to forget it. He shuffled into his bedroom, putting his goggles on the repurposed wig head on his dresser, and began to unbutton his shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been working, 2 am roughly, it was a Friday night, so obviously it was busy. Renee hadn’t been there to help him out, she’d had to work late at her side gig at a diner in Montcheau. A burly man in khaki shorts and a stupid graphic tee had called him over, requested seating in the private area. Elliott wasn’t really surprised, the burly man was with a woman in a green jumpsuit, her hair short, almost military, he supposed they were on a date. That’s what people usually wanted the private seating for, anyway. Wasn’t his business if they were gonna get freaky back there, it was private for a reason, he’d send one of the Mirages to clean up whatever mess they made.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott flashed the man and his partner his signature charming grin, telling them both to follow him, right this way, excuse me- sorry- here we are! He opened the mirrored door to the private booth, directing them to the buzzer they could press to order drinks (and more subtly to the condoms in the box under the seat), and left them both with a wink. He heard the man guffaw as he made his way back to the bar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t even an hour later before he heard the buzzer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The light for the first booth lit up. Elliott left one of the Mirages to take care of the bar, taking a tray of glasses and various boozes with him as he maneuvered through the various people chatting and dancing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was quite a commotion sounding from the booth, and he silently lamented the fact he’d probably have to turn down a threesome again. He knocked lightly, carefully balancing the tray in one hand. He didn’t really do it to be polite, it was more to let the occupants know he was coming in so they had time to get out of each other. The door opened with a click, and Elliott let the tray crash to the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shards of glass and rivulets of alcohol scattered across the laminate wood flooring, rolling their way into the private booth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the floor, there was a man. He had a knife sticking out of his shoulder, a large, bleeding gash going from the right side of his neck all the way up to his ear, which was only hanging on by a few strings of flesh. The profuse bleeding had turned his tanned skin a dark shade of red, parts of his brown hair and beard completely coloured black. Elliott felt himself pulled into the room by the burly man, the door clicking shut and locked behind him. He felt bile rise up in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman in the jumpsuit pulled a gun out of her bag, a silencer already fixed onto it,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you not to fucking move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A muffled shot rang out through the confined space, Elliott staggered back towards the door, his breathing laboured and hands trembling. A splash of blood hit his lip and perfectly pressed shirt collar, and he watched as the body slumped to the floor, a pool of blood spilling out around his head from the bullet wound in the front of it, his eyes still opened wide and terrified.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott threw up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were words spoken between the two people - no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>murderers</span>
  </em>
  <span> - behind him, the burly man grabbing a brooch off the body, and the jumpsuited woman hoisted the corpse over her shoulder not long after. The burly man bent down to Elliott, who shuffled away from him as quick as his shaking limbs could take him, one arm wiping saliva from his lips. The burly man held a hand out, an attempt to reassure him, but Elliott couldn’t quite be reassured when the man in front of him had blood stains soaking his khaki shorts and graphic tee-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just Slayin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The text on it was quite ironic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man was saying something, fixing his hair back up into its bun, but Elliott couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything over the overwhelming ringing in his ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A thick wad of cash was thrust in front of him,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t see a damn thing. We weren’t here.” The jumpsuited woman spoke sternly, but with a lilt that comforted him somewhat. He grabbed the cash, flicked through it. There was a few hundred thousand dollars there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two of them got up, the burly man unlocking and opening the door for the woman, the two of them just leaving the private room with the body over the jumpsuited woman’s shoulders, like it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>casual</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott stood shakily, and let one of his Mirages take care of the cleanup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was shocked when he stepped out and saw not a single trace of the killers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Elliott didn’t like thinking about that night too much, it haunted his dreams most of the time as it was. It did no good to dwell on it while he was conscious as well. He didn’t think he could be considered conscious at that point though, his body was on autopilot, dressing him in satin pyjamas and tying his product-filled hair back. He didn’t come back to himself until he’d collapsed onto his bed, pillows sprawled out around him, and finally closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The sunlight filtered through the murky window, casting shadows of the clutter all across the room. The beams trailed over every surface; the dresser that was coated in makeup and bobby pins, the wicker basket that was knocked over and spilling its contents onto the floor, the walk-in wardrobe whose door stood slightly ajar, revealing a large amount of clothes that adorned every surface within it, and all the way to the furthest wall, which was covered in posters of the famous inventor and mixologist, Elliott Witt. Each poster had him in various situations and poses, such as on a couch on a morning talk show with host Jenneifer Kclein, whose glowing blue hair would electrocute you if you touched it without her consent. There was one of Elliott showing off a dish of pork chops with his mother, another of him doing nude modelling for some silly brand name fragrance that he absolutely hated, and a candid photograph of him accepting his Nebulum Award from the Empress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as the sun slowly rose, the sunbeams scattered across the snoring form of Elliott Witt, who had his legs tangled in his various blankets and both arms holding a cushion to his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone chimed from where it stood on its charging dock, a silly picture of Renee popping up, along with her caller ID.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott jumped as he woke, choking on his own breath mid-snore, hurriedly pushing his glasses on and tapping open his holopad. He ruffled his hair into something semi-presentable, and answered Renee’s call, greeted with her frantically looking around and grinning, which in and of itself was unnerving. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> looked happy,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Nee? What’s wrong? You’re smiling. Someone either asked you out or died.” Elliott croaked out, voice hoarse with both sleep and mild dehydration. He slid out of his bed, detangling his legs and sliding his feet into his slippers. He maneuvered his holopad to float alongside him as he walked into his kitchen, both hands now free,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ell! Listen okay, something awesome just happened. Get to the Rose as soon as you can, yeah? I’ll wait at Belle’s for you.” Without another word, or even a moment’s hesitation, she hung up. Elliott stood in his kitchen with his coffee pot in hand, a little shocked. He slid his holopad closed,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not even a little explanation? A little pre-predis-predec- Fuck.” He gave up on himself, opting to just sip his coffee instead, and mentally visualising what he should wear today.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The train was jam packed, which was odd considering it was 12pm on a goddamn Thursday. Normally, all these people were at work or school, or even at some shitty drive-thru getting lunch. Elliott was squashed between two Quildings, who were somehow speaking to each other through the lisp their tusks provided them with, their naturally huge mass making it hard to get any semblance of personal space. He was incredibly grateful when he got to his stop, less so when he realised that almost every single person on the damn train was getting off at the exact same spot. There was a moment of internal grief that he’d agreed to meet Renee there instead of just turning on the damn news.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elliott mostly went with the flow of the crowd, assuming they’d just take him to his desired destination anyway. On one hand, he was grateful that the crowd was so dense. No one had recognised him and stopped him for an autograph or something, but on the other hand, he couldn’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never fared too well in crowds, even parties were a little overwhelming sometimes, and a crowd like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>? With no obvious escape route. It was almost too much. He slipped his goggles down over his eyes, desperately trying to even out his breathing so he didn’t collapse and get trampled to death. It was so difficult. There was so much noise and everyone was pressing up against him and touching him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>god was that a hand on his neck </span>
  </em>
  <span>and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Elliott! Over here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-that was Renee’s voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The static shut out, the only blaring noise was the portal right next to his ear. A hand popped through it, grabbing him by the shirt sleeve and yanked him right through it. Not a second later, he was being held by Renee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d managed to get them both up onto a balcony somewhere, out of the crowd and with a great view of the screen on one of the skyscrapers that was steadily flickering to life,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey dork, you good?” Renee rubbed her hands up and down her friend’s shoulders, searching his face for any signs of lasting anxiety. Elliott nodded, taking a few deep breaths to ground himself,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d you drag me out here for? Better be something excep-fant- good. You woke me up early, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called you at twelve in the afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? And?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smacked him up the side of the head playfully,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, look at the screen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The screen showed Michael Lancashyre, the Lord of Loboul, standing up on the stage before a podium, right in front of the Iron Rose, smiling and waving to the crowds below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t as detested as most politicians were, taking criticism in stride and doing everything he could to benefit the people. He was no President, but he did all he could, and that was worthy of everyone’s respect, and Elliott’s too,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Greetings, Loboul!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael’s voice boomed across the street below, and cheers erupted from the people that occupied it in response,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to see you’re all here! I didn’t intend to make this a surprise visit, but I’ll admit, I was a bit improper. I forgot to write up the post announcing my arrival. But, you all came anyway, and that brings a tear to my eye.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Renee scoffed at the propriety of it all, and this time it was Elliott’s turn to slap her for it,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m here today because I have an announcement to make.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The remaining mumbles of conversation in the crowds died out as the Lord said those words, people listening with completely undivided interest. Other than the children, but that was always the case,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have decided to run for president of Exotel!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone erupted into cheers, the sheer volume shaking the windows in their frames and reaching decibels high enough only dogs could hear it. Elliott grabbed Renee and held her, picking her up and swinging her around as they both screamed at each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For years, Exotel had been ruled by a damn near tyrannical president. He’d outlawed the bill allowing free healthcare for everyone, made it so non-Jewelle folk had to pay upwards of a hundred thousand dollars just for some damn antibiotics. That wasn’t even starting on the laws against homelessness, intergalactical relationships, farming, the list goes on-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now? There was a chance. A chance for so many people to benefit from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michael could bring to their country. Renee and Elliott were near tears with excitement, hoping more people across Exotel would see the amazing things that would come from a good presidency such as this, a brighter future-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shouts of joy from the crowd did nothing to muffle the gunshot.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi! this is my first work in roughly two years, and my very first one in the Apex fandom! I was inspired to finally post this first chapter after Bloodhound's lore release today!</p><p>I hope you enjoy, don't forget to comment some love and criticism, drop a Kudos and bookmark if you really love it!</p><p>instagram - theolddgods<br/>tumblr - newagerebellions</p></blockquote></div></div>
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